


A Tale as Old As Time

by JoAsakura



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/pseuds/JoAsakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A classic Kirkwall Fairytale.  Inspired by this <a href="http://enerjak.deviantart.com/art/Once-Upon-a-Fade-210220121"> awesome piece</a>. May not be as adorable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Every Story Starts Somewhere.

**Chapter 1: Every Story Starts Somewhere**

Once upon a time, there was a glorious city at the edge of the sea known as Kirkwall. It had white towers that rose up high into the sky, glittering in the sun, and it's streets were filled with nobles in fine Orlesian silks and brave knight Templars in their shining silver armour.

 _That_ is not where our story begins, however.

Because, for every gleaming tower, there were fifty rat-infested hovels in lowtown. And for every rat-infested hovel, there was something even worse in the under city. And for every brave knight Templar in their shining silver armour, there was a family of refugees trying to keep out of their sight.

 **That** is where our story begins.

In one particular hovel lived a family of Fereldan refugees named the Hawkes. Their mother had been a noblewoman in her younger days, and they had come to Kirkwall in a time of great need, hoping that they could return to the estates of her youth.

But the ugly reality was that her rather awful brother had lost the family fortune and sold their home to slave traders, and so the Hawkes- the mother and her two surviving children- huddled around a fire in uncle Gamlen's drafty tenement, eating bread stretched with sawdust while winter began to settle in outside their door.

As the oldest son, Garrett Hawke took his responsibilities for providing for his family very seriously. All around Kirkwall, he took a variety odd jobs, including, but not limited to, waiting tables at the Hanged Man, selling other people's scavenged trousers at the the rag man's stall, killing giant spiders in the local mines, juggling small rodents to the tune of popular Orlesian ballads on street corners and even one rather unfortunate affair involving a spangled nug costume and a bachelorette party at the Dwarven Merchants Guild.

(He didn't like to speak of that last one.)

His mother took in sewing and his sister, an apostate mage trying **very** hard to keep out of the eyes of the Templars, apprenticed herself to a runecrafter. Between them, it was enough to keep them in food and fuel. And for a time, they lived in relative security, despite uncle Gamlen's prodigious appetite for Antivan brandy and whores.

That was, until the wasting plague struck the city, and their family, with a terrible force. Hawke watched helplessly each day as his mother and young sister grew weaker, as the full brunt of winter settled on the city. And uncle spent more and more time avoiding them and the bill collectors, undaunted by any threat of disease, who came knocking on the door with greater frequency when their income dropped off.

He determined to go without, saving what coin he could, to afford a visit to the masked plague doctors who had been making the rounds in hightown, curing the wealthy. But after a particularly long day of work he came back to their shabby little home to find that uncle Gamlen had left- he had told his sister that he would go and fetch some bread from the market, and had not returned.

A sick feeling of dread settled in Hawke's stomach as he opened the chest with his few belongings. Uncle Gamlen (his evil, _horrible_ uncle Gamlen, Hawke corrected) had left with every copper Garrett had squirreled away. Cautiously, he closed the chest, and looked over to where his sister sat by the fire, coughing softly as she worked an armour rune with trembling fingers. Mother had not risen from her bed, bundled under the covers as the wind blew outside.

"Bethany." Hawke said in the same careful way that he had closed the chest. "I have enough to go to the healer now. Will you and mother be all right while I go and fetch him?"

She glanced back at him, smile lighting up her wan face, even with the circles under her eyes. "of course, brother." she said. "you always keep your promises."

He just nodded, wrapped himself back up in his tattered cloak and stepped out into the cold night.

~~~

Like every other place Hawke went to that evening, Corff, the bartender at the Hanged Man, gave him a sad shake of the head when asked for more work, unmoved even when Garrett pleaded with him for his mother and sister's sake.

The bartender only patted the young man on the arm and gave him a mug of watered-down swill in scant consolation when Hawke's stomach growled.

He was hunched over the chipped mug, nursing the swill in misery, when a very odd dwarf came up to him. The dwarf was lavishly dressed, with gold on his ears and at his throat. His tunic was open to reveal a scandalous amount of chest hair and he walked with a surprising swagger for someone with such short legs. That was odd enough. But what made him a _very_ odd dwarf was that he had no beard.

Garrett had always suspected that male dwarves had no chins. This one proved him spectacularly wrong.

The dwarf with the beardless, manly chin slid onto the booth next to Hawke and gave him an appraising look. "so I hear you're looking for a healer." he said conversationally. He smelled strongly of cheap cologne – a trait which did nothing to make Garrett feel particularly at ease, so he clutched his drink a little closer and gave the dwarf his best baleful gaze.

When that failed to cow his new-found companion, Garrett sighed and recounted the tale. "uncle Gamlen couldn't say good morning without lying twice." he finished. "now, we have no money for food, let alone medicine. I would do anything to help them, but no one will have me."

"They both have the plague, but a you don't." the dwarf, who's name was Varric, asked as he sipped his own drink.

"I've always been unreasonably durable." Hawke admitted, ruefully.

"Well, you're willing, resilient, and attractive for a human. I think I can help you out." Varric said with unnerving cheer. He pulled a handkerchief out of one pocket and a stubby pencil from another and sketched a crude map. "go here, in the undercity, and wait. There's a... Healer there who might help you."

Garett took the obviously pre-used hankie gingerly and quirked an eyebrow as he looked back at the dwarf. "Darktown." He started, then pressed his lips together. "I've heard it's lousy with criminals and that abominations stalk the dark places."

"Well, if you don't want it…" Varric replied.

"it's not that I'm… ungrateful, messere." Hawke said very carefully. "but you'll understand if I'm a little suspicious. Am I going to get clonked on the head and sold to Tevinter slavers? I'd really rather that not happen, if only for my family's sake."

"no, no, Hawke. Totally on the level." Varric laughed. "let's just say, by helping you, I'm helping... an old friend."


	2. Hi ho, hi ho, off to Darktown we go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke tends to agree to things without reading the fine print

With the determination to help his family overriding common sense and basic survival instincts, Garret Hawke followed the dwarf's badly drawn map into darktown. The undercity was a warren of twisting passages and abandoned tunnels, crisscrossing with the fetid sewers and storm drains choked with things Hawke didn't want to spend too much time contemplating.

Compared to the grasp of winter above ground, the tunnels were almost unbearably hot, and he shifted uncomfortably in his tattered cloak. The wretched souls who made their homes in the tunnels paid him little heed and Hawke waited in the stench and cloying heat for what seemed like an eternity.

There was no way to properly judge time in the tunnels, he found, but he was starting to feel the fool when a group of thugs, clad in rusting cast-off armor accosted him.

"We're the darktown city guard, mate." said one with a rotten- toothed smile and a battered cuirass that looked more suited to bashing cockroaches than wearing for protection. "An' we noticed you been, ya know, as they likes t'say, loitering."

"There's a fine fer that, there is." said one of his companions, who wore a hat that appeared to be made from some unidentifiable, yet extremely dead, former animal.

Hawke sighed. It didn't matter if the dwarf set him up or this was some roving gang of rabies-ridden idiots, he thought, the annoyance was just the same.

"I don't want any trouble, lads." he said, squaring his shoulders. Underneath the raggedy cloak, he let his hand drift to the knife he wore at his belt. " I'm just waiting for the healer, for my mother and my sister.". He'd seen his share of fights and he was certain this wouldn't be the last, but it was hardly what he needed.

They laughed, braying. "Ain't no healers in Darktown boy." one said. "just us fine souls."

"And an... _abomination_." an unexpected voice came from behind Hawke. He wheeled, heart pounding at the sudden scare. The voice was cold and deep as a tomb, and he saw the thugs turn ashy, eyes wide with terror. He could only imagine what his own expression was like.

The voice came from a figure shrouded all in black. The heavy dark fabric was covered at the top in jet black feathers that Hawke's startled brain registered as two very large and angry ravens mating all over the stranger's shoulders. He wore a very deep hood, and two glowing points of light shone from within, in the place where eyes should have been.

When the thugs didn't retreat quickly enough for the stranger, there was a brief flash of crackling blue, a wall of power that sent the goons toppling before the ran screaming back into the stinking dark.

"You have _got_ to teach me that trick." Hawke said, hoping the nervousness in his voice didn't show.

"You were going to take them on all alone." the black robed figure said in a voice that sounded like it emanated from the fade itself. "you're either ridiculously brave, or incandescently stupid."

"I make extra money hunting giant poisonous spiders." Hawke admitted, feeling marginally less terrified. "you do the math." he lifted his scruffy chin. "are you the healer, then?"

"and if I am?" the two points of light in the recesses of the hood seemed to narrow.

"a dwarf named Varric sent me here. My mother and sister have the plague, serah, he said you could help them."

"there _is_ a price." the figure in black shrugged, making the heavy feather pauldrons undulate dramatically.

"I have no coin, but I'm very useful." Hawke said, hoping he wouldn't have to mention the nug costume. "If you can heal them, I'll do anything for you, unless it involves children and animals, I promise."

"This is a restorative potion." the hooded man said, producing a small vial of red liquid from somewhere deep within his cloak. "they must each have a sip each day until the contents are gone. It will restore their health."

Hawke took the vial gingerly. "and your price?"

"You will return here after you have delivered it. Bring what you must, and tell no one of where you are going." the stranger turned, gliding moreso than walking. "and then you will come with me, serve me for a year, _whatever_ I require."

"And what if I don't return?" Hawke clutched the potion to his chest.

"You... seem like the sort who keeps his promises.. Garrett Hawke." the strange being said pleasantly, with another angry bird shrug that screamed "I will find you and you will probably regret it if you don't."

As Hawke watched him vanish, he could only wonder what in the Maker's name he was going to tell his mother.


	3. Garrett Hawke and the Mansion of Dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke makes new friends.

The first sips of the potion restored the roses to their cheeks, and when Hawke was sure they were out of danger, spun an utterly implausible story about being hired on an expedition into the deep roads by a dwarf, and that he would hopefully be back in a year.

His mother gave him a kiss on the cheek and his sister the armor rune she'd so carefully crafted, and as the snow fell on Kirkwall, dirty from the foundry soot long before it even hit the ground, Hawke found himself trudging back to Darktown.

As before, the strange healer appeared out of seeming nowhere, scaring Garrett half to death. "couldn't you wear a bell or something?" he gasped, clutching his chest.

"I am the dark vengeance of Kirkwall, I am justice personified. You would bell me like an adorable little tabby cat?" the feathered shoulders trembled in rage. "One that, even though it was brave enough to stand against myriad darkspawn, got left in Amaranthine because it was too damn adorable for the..." The healer stopped mid sentence, one black-gloved finger wagging in Hawke's face.

"What." hawke said, one eyebrow inching up his face further with every passing second.

"Never mind. Follow me. If you dare." He, for Hawke was assuming the healer was male, turned on his heel with a dramatic flare of black cloak swirling about him.

"You seem... different. " Hawke ventured as he followed the stranger into a dim, crumbling side tunnel. "are you quite alright?"

"you actually returned." the healer said without turning around. His voice seemed less... sepulchral than it had earlier, and Hawke couldn't tell if it were some trick of acoustics.

"I keep my promises." Hawke said with a shrug.

"A rare trait in this day and age." the healer said as he unlocked a heavy door at the end of a narrow tunnel. "enter."

They came up through a series of basement storehouses and locked chambers until they entered a kitchen that looked like it hadn't been used in decades. Cobwebs hung in dusty ropes from the ceiling, the floor was a mess of shattered tiles, and there was a hunk of what might have been cheese that was older than most people. The healer locked the door behind him and the key vanished into the depths of his robes. "your new home, Garrett Hawke." He said.

Hawke suppressed a comment about the decor. "so, what would you have me do?" he lifted his scruffy chin.

"Eh. I'm sure you'll figure something out." the healer said abruptly. Hawke opened his mouth to question but the Healer waved him off. "you may go anywhere you wish in the mansion, except that door." He pointed to a heavy door at the opposite end of the foyer they'd walked into.

"Sooo... what's behind that door?" Hawke asked.

"Your doom, if you ask me that again." the healer said. "Just... don't break anything." he added, stalking towards the door. "There are bedrooms up the stairs, pick whichever you like." and with that, he shut the door behind him with a heavy thunk.

Hawke stood, perplexed, for several long moments. Then he squared his shoulders and set off to find a room. It had been, if not the longest day of his life, at least the strangest.

He needed some sleep.

~~~

Finding a bedroom was easier said than done. He came across three libraries, two dining rooms and a walk-in closet bigger than uncle Gamlen's entire hovel, all of which were in varying states of disrepair. If the healer didn't give him something to do in the morning, Hawke determined he was going to have to clean.

Certain he would find the bedrooms on the next turn, Hawke went down another dimly lit corridor, nearly identical the the last three he'd been down. He was contemplating just sleeping int the hallway when suddenly, a vase went whizzing past his head.

There was a chorus of ghostly giggles. Exhausted and profoundly annoyed, Hawke ran after the sounds. "Show yourself! Unless... You're a dragon or a giant spider. Feel free to keep hiding then." In response, another vase careened through the air, smacking Hawke square in the face.

"Nug humping.. Maker damned..." Hawke cursed, wiping the blood from the cut on his nose. "This. Is. WAR!" Hawke shouted until a barrage of cutlery started winging it's way toward him.

With a yelp, Hawke dove into the nearest room, slamming the door behind him.

To his surprise, it was a bedroom, with a neat, if dust-covered canopy bed. Lit candles shone softly on the sideboard, and along the walls, there was an impressive collection of fine weapons.

Not willing to take any more chances, Hawke took them (sword and shield, daggers, crossbow and staff), and unceremoniously dumped them in the hallway.

Satisfied there was nothing left in the room that could potentially fly through the air kill him, Hawke went to sleep.

Or at least tried to.

~~~

Hawke awoke when the bed shifted next to him, but when he tried to turn to see, a hand, narrow and careworn, closed over his eyes. "shh."

"you're not going to hit me with a vase, are you?" Hawke asked. The hand on his eyes smelled of dusty books and potions.

"I... Am a prisoner here as well, you could say." the man said softly. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to.."

"And you're covering my eyes because?" Hawke asked. He found he didn't mind though. After everything, it was hardly unpleasant to have someone warm and hopefully less crazy than everything else that had occurred. "Are you horribly disfigured? A darkspawn? A... Templar?" he added with extra-spooky voice.

To his credit, Hawke's mysterious bedmate barely missed a beat. "No, but I... have... Unique circumstances. I only have a brief window, before the dawn, and you may not look at me. I know that seems..."

"no stranger than anything else." Hawke admitted. "I have an old scarf... perhaps if you covered my eyes, you'd feel more comfortable?"

"You are not afraid?" the man said as he tied the moth eaten scarf across Hawke's closed eyes.

"I've been told I'm either ridiculously brave or incandescently stupid." Hawke said pleasantly. "either way, no, I'm not afraid."

"You are a rare person indeed, Garrett Hawke." the man laughed as hawke rolled over. "I'm called Anders."

"Anders." Hawke smiled, bringing his fingers up to touch Anders' face. "Hm, you don't _seem_ horribly disfigured." when Hawke felt the stubbled cheeks pull into an answering one, he leaned forward and kissed him.

"I have... many rules I must follow." Anders murmured against his mouth. "I will cherish breaking this one most of all, I think."


	4. the Merry Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> turning out to be a wee bit longer than I expected!

Garrett Hawke awoke with the sort of annoying, smug contentedness reserved for the well-shagged.

His stomach grumbled as he stretched, disappointed (yet unsurprised) that the mysterious Anders had vanished with the morning. Still, it would make a year in servitude to the strange (cranky) healer go quicker with such pleasant company.

Light streamed from the high windows above the bed, and he thought he heard the bustle of the city through the thick walls. Pondering that, Hawke rolled over.

He paused.

There was, glinting in the morning sun, a sword lying on the bed next to him. Not quite a two-handed sword, but definitely... lankier... than your usual type of weapon, the blade was covered in a delicate lyrium filigree. The gold-washed hilt spread out into a dramatically pointed crosspiece, and a brilliant green gem gleamed in the center.

It was a truly elegant display of the swordsmith's art, and Hawke was certain he'd dumped it, and the other weapons he'd found lying around, in the hallway the night before.

Frowning, he reached over to the blade when beside the bed, the staff he'd also evicted from the room suddenly appeared. "oh, look!" it said, in a frighteningly cheerful voice. "he's awake, everyone look, he's awake!"

Hawke screamed, then the staff screamed, and still screaming, Hawke scrambled back and fell off the bed in an unceremonious thunk. He clutched the sheet to his chest in a manner that provided benefit to neither armour class nor modesty.

"oh, *well done*, witch." the sword sneered. It gave Hawke the distinct impression that it was staring at him, despite a lack of any face. "you've terrified him."

"oh, I'm sorry. I don't have much experience with humans." the staff piped as Hawke peered over the edge of the bed.

"you.. both.. talk." he said. The staff was a ridiculous confection of burled wood, broken glass and feathers, engraved with delicate spirals.

"We *all* talk." the sword said witheringly.

"I'm Merrill, a staff of the Dalish keepers." the staff chirped. "and this is Fenris, the blade of Tevinter. He's a bit cranky, but don't mind him, he's..."

"I could have introduced myself, witch." the sword interrupted.

Within moments, the remainder of the weapons had crowded onto the bed, all giving the unnerving impression of examining Hawke. "this is Ser Aveline, a shield of Orlais!" the staff leaned towards a garish, leaf-shaped great shield. "So exotic!"

"I was forged in Ferelden." the shield sighed. "merrill, we've been over this. I was made in the *style* of Orlais. Orlesian weapons are poncey and..."

Undaunted, Merrill continued right on over Aveline's rant about inferior Orlesian weaponry. "This is Izzy and Bella... They were *pirate daggers*." she, for there was no way Hawke could think of the staff as an it now, added in a scandalous whisper.

"Well, hello there, big boy." one of the daggers said. Hawke never knew a weapon could look lascivious. "want to fondle our hilts?" the other added, and he swore the crosspiece waggled at him seductively.

The staff tittered. "they're very naughty. And this is Bianca- she was made by dwarves, if you can believe it." she whispered, inclining towards the elaborate crossbow. "Dwarves! I've never met a dwarf before, are they really very hairy? like little bears?"

"We can still all hear you, Merrill." Aveline the shield said wearily.

Hawke watched them all argue for several minutes, trying to absorb what he was seeing. Finally, he snapped. "Will you all shut up for a minute?" he got up and readjusted his sheet, feeling self-conscious under the gaze of the leering pirate daggers. "Just what are you all doing in my room?"

"Technically, this is our room" Fenris grumbled.

"Although, we did sort of.." one dagger started. "herd you in here" the other added. "Oh, but it was so funny when you made that face when we started throwing things at you!"

"You were the ones that hit me with that vase?!" hawke flailed at them, and the staff burst into hysterical giggles as the sheet fell to the floor.

It was going to be a long year after all.

~~~

There was no sign of the healer when Hawke finally found his way into the sparsely provisioned kitchen. There was, however, a clatter of steel every time he turned around to find the weapons peeking around a corner at him.

"ok, fine, come on." he sighed. "I'm sorry I threatened to use you all to gut fish."

"phaugh!" the sword made the most remarkable gagging sound ever produced by something lacking either a digestive tract or a mouth.

Hawke sat at the table with the least stale things he could find. "So. How did an arsenal of talking weapons end up in a mansion with..."

"Our master!" Merrill said. "we were all stolen by those awful slavers and he saved us when he took over the mansion!" by the way the rest of them groaned, Hawke could only assume this was not the first time Merrill had gone down this road. "it's so sad, really, him laboring under his tragic curse..."

"Please. He was an idiot Mage who pissed off the witch of the wilds with his smart mouth. " Fenris muttered. "served him right."

"He's under a curse, then? What about Anders?" Hawke leaned forward to spit out the unpleasant piece of bread he'd popped in his mouth.

"Who?" The shield gave the sense of cocking her nonexistent head at him.

"Anders. the one I.. You had to have seen him, he walked right past you to get into the room."

"Oh, that's..." Merrill started before she fell suddenly over with a dull wooden thunk.

"I... get the feeling you're not telling me something." Hawke said, and the weapons all looked as innocent as they possibly could.


	5. A Party of Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is exceedingly dumb. Enjoy ^_^; (edits made, as uploading a story at 1 am maybe not always the best idea)

Growing up, Hawke's father had regaled him with endless tales of his mercenary adventures. Immediately afterwards, his mother would take him aside and explain the concept of the "unreliable narrator".

He was reminded of this when, after several hours, each weapon had given him a wildly differing version of the healer's story.

What he was able to cobble together was that Anders- the mysterious man with the gentle hands and the decidedly ungentle but exceptional bedroom skills- had done something (the weapons were unclear on the specifics, but it either had something to do with darkspawn or absolutely nothing at all to do with them, which was really no help at all) that had caused the witch of the wilds to place a horrible curse on him. Doomed to walk the earth as a hideous abomination, his only relief a brief period between the darkest of the night and the first light of dawn, where. He would revert back to his human form.

As the day wore on, though, Hawke was able to tease out of the weapons that there might a cure to the curse.

Bianca, the crossbow, seemed like the most mentally stable of the weapons (an idea that he would've considered barmy a week before) and it.. She.. It... Had hinted that maybe, possibly, if someone were to kiss the cursed healer on his hideous abomination lips in the moment right before he changed back into a man. A man Hawke had never actually seen.

"but the master hides during the day!" Merrill the staff fretted. "he only goes out at night to make his rounds."

"then we have to figure out a way to keep him here at night, and occupied until he changes!" Hawke pondered, rubbing his scruffy chin. "but how?"

"A party!" the two daggers shouted in unison.

"maker, here we go." Fenris said with a level of disdain that Hawke didn't think was humanly possible.

But then again, Fenris *was* a sword.

Izzy and Bella were undaunted by Fenris's scathing contempt.

"we could have..." one of them said. Hawke was utterly at a loss to which dagger might be which, and he wasn't exactly sure it mattered.

"music! And food and.." the other continued.

"dancing!" they said in unison. If they had arms, they would have been flailing. As it was, they both fell off the table in a giggling clatter. "partaaaay!"

"but we're weapons." Aveline said, frowning as much as a shield could possibly frown. "what would we know about throwing a party?"

There was a moment of silence, then with a scrape of steel, all of the weapons turned to Hawke.

~~

Hawke swallowed, feeling the sweat bead on his brow under the pressure of six pairs of ... Well, he couldn't exactly call them eyes. Exactly. But six pairs of something, and it was making him profoundly uncomfortable.

"I don't ... I mean, " Hawke looked at the expectant weapons. He had managed worse than this, he thought. "ok. Um. First off, we need booze." he said as the daggers cheered.

Before Hawke knew it, he was raiding the mansion's cellars for bottles of wine, and a plan was hatched. Fenris and Aveline would be in charge of acquiring Anders. Merrill and Bianca would handle the music and victuals, and the daggers decreed themselves in charge of beverages and decorations.

"But you can't even drink." Hawke protested as they prodded him up the stairs. "and where are we going to find decorations in this dump?"

"No need to worry cutie!" izzy (or maybe it was Bella) said.

"We have all the decorations we need right here!" the other finished as Hawke opened the door to one of the mansion's many crumbling rooms.

It was filled with chests of plundered finery from val royeaux- feathers and jewelry and elegant orlesian silk ball gowns. Hawke picked up one in a particularly intimidating shade of fuchsia and glanced over at the two little weapons who were practically vibrating with excitement.

"what." he glowered at them.

"*you're* the decorations!" they shouted in unison. "once Anders gets a look at your dashing figure in these clothes, and has a few drinks in him, he'll be satisfying the demands of your Qun all night long,"

"Do you even know what that means? And anyways, you do realize I'm a man, right?" Hawke tried to glower harder, but it just made his face hurt.

"So?" one of the pirate daggers said, nonplussed.

"Never mind." Hawke sighed. "I just don't think they'll fit. And I don't see an enchanted pair of talking tailor's scissors lying about, do you?"

The pirate daggers went snickersnak and radiated such an unholy glee that Hawke cursed the day he met that damn dwarf.

~~~

Hawke had never been a regular chantry-goer at the best of times, and his faith in the maker was lax at best. But right now, Hawke prayed to andraste and the maker and the paragons and whoever the hell it was the damn elves worshiped that no one outside of a handful of psychotic talking weapons and an abomination ever saw him dressed as he was.

Garrett Hawke was a handsome young man to be sure, but he was broad of shoulder and hairy of chest, both of which were cunningly accentuated by the rippling tiers of retina-assaulting chiffon and frothy beglittered lace trim that he was laced into. A feathered clip, sparkling with matching gems, bobbed in his badly trimmed hair and accentuated his scabbed nose and scruffy chin.

He tugged at the corset digging into his waist and adjusted the voluminous petticoats as he slugged back another three fingers of fine antivan brandy. It wasn't going to be enough, he thought, even as the daggers somehow managed to balance the bottle to reload his drink. He definitely would've preferred something in a classic black velvet - fuschia just wasn't his color.

"Drink up, party boy." one of them said, and Hawke couldn't be arsed to figure out which one it was.

It was terribly late, and he started to worry that Fenris and Aveline hadn't been able to convince Anders to come, and he wasn't sure he wanted to stay in a screaming pink ballgown until morning. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait too long, because there was a clamor coming from the hallway.

"..think you are!?" Anders hollow-abomination voice echoed peevishly through the hallway. "this is mutiny!"

"I have wanted to stab you for an eternity." Fenris clattered after him, Aveline clanking behind. "I swear to the maker, I am this close..." the elven sword's words devolved into a string of unintelligible tevinter swearing.

"I am going to melt you down into a set of silverware you ungrateful piece of cutlery." Anders began to rant until the healer in his enormous feather-pauldroned robe caught sight of Hawke in his festive attire. "what."

"I'm lonely and bored and sometimes a man just wants to feel pretty, ok?" Hawke said, pressing a drink into the healer's hand. "just drink."

"I am dark avenger come to cleanse the underbelly of this templar-infected festering sore of a city and as such, I do not drink." Anders said pompously, immediately followed by a yelp of pain as Fenris poked him in the side.

"nonsense. You're an idiot mage who got cursed. Now drink." the sword growled.

"and dancing, right?" the daggers said as Bianca the crossbow came clattering into the room - without Merrill or any possible foodstuffs and Hawke wondered suddenly why he'd thought it a good idea to let a crossbow and a wizard's staff be the ones in charge of food.

"dancing, yes!" the crossbow said in a manner that Hawke thought was inappropriately perky. But then it.. No, she... Started to sing.

And it was lovely, the acoustics of the room making it even more beautiful. Hawke set his drink down, and set his hands on his hips. "are you going to ask a lady to dance, already?"

"I know what this is about, Garrett Hawke." Anders said as he stiffly guided his dance partner across the floor. "you think you might cure me of my affliction, but it is not to be. Before I so briefly return to my human form, I undergo a transformation so terrifying, I cannot even remember it, except that I am some sort of ravening beast. I told you to keep to your rooms for your own protection and now.."

"oh, shut up." Hawke said, and kissed him as the clock struck midnight.

At first, he kissed the lips of an abomination, which was not unlike kissing an old boot that had been fished out of the sewer and left on a cold dock laden with fish guts. In other words, it was distressing and probably deeply unhygienic.

But Hawke bravely soldiered on and suddenly, in a flash of light and smoke, Anders' cloak fluttered to the ground. Hawke grabbed Fenris by the hilt and the sword yelped in protest, ready to defend himself from whatever hideous beast emerged from the mist.

"mew."

He looked at the sword, who seemed to look back at him. Then they both looked down at the adorable orange tabby kitten that stared up at them. The kitten looked them both over of a moment, then unceremoniously began to lick it's own butt.

"Was there *something* you all forgot to tell me?" Hawke asked, but he didn't actually expect an answer. He dropped Fenris with a clank and scooped up the squirming kitten. "really." he sighed. "the things I do to keep a promise."

And very chastely, he kissed the kitten on the end of it's nose.

~~~

Almost immediately, there was another dramatic flash of light and smoke and Hawke found himself flat on the ground, a fully human and extremely naked Anders sitting on his chest.

He had to admit, all things considered, was a pretty good view.

"I'm cured?" Anders said, as the clock continued to chime. "the curse is broken?" he leaned down and gave Hawke the kind of kiss that definitely shanked one's Jory.

It was a kiss that would've gone on for an indecently long time if it weren't for the fact that staff called Merrill flung itself into the room like a manic boomerang.

The first thing Hawke noticed was she was completely without a savory collection of finger foods. Promptly after that, he saw that she was panicking.

"Merrill." Aveline said, more than asked. "what did you do."

"I thought if I poked my head out, I could find the urchin who delivers the food each week, the one that master leaves the coin out for?"

"go on." Aveline said, and Hawke felt something that had nothing to do with the handsome naked Mage still perched on his chest,

"and I may have perhaps run across a Templar instead and there might be a whole bunch of them coming this way."

"knickerweasels!" Anders spat and grabbed his oversized robe in a flurry of black feathers.

Hawke had never really intended on going on the lam with a former abomination and a collection of illicit magical weapons, all while wearing about thirty pounds of orlesian silk, but as he strapped Fenris to his back and tucked the tittering daggers into his bodice, he figured it was better than going back to the nug costume.

But as they fled, laughing, into the undercity, Hawke couldn't help but think they forgot something.

~~

After the chaos of the Templar incursion on the mansion had ended, and the crumbling old building was boarded up, the crossbow named Bianca hopped out from her hiding place and waited.

It wasn't long before a swaggering dwarf with an ungodly amount of chest hair and a manly, beardless chin picked his way through the debris. "it took you long enough." the crossbow said...well.. crossly,

"I told you I'd be back for you, old friend." Varric said as he scooped Bianca up and slung her over his shoulder. "Hawke's not the only one who keeps his promises."

The two fugitives and their talking weapons eventually DID find themselves on a trip to the deep roads, and after bringing back shocking amounts of undeclared treasure to Hawke's poor family, they all lived happily ever after.

Even *if* Anders did still turn into a kitten at midnight, much to the surprise of everyone involved.


End file.
